to me than all the attentions and the support of friendship.
Mon ami, my soul must either be lifted wholly out of its
sorrow (and none but you have the power to do this) or it
must make that sorrow its sole nourishment. If you knew
how empty and cold books seem to me ; how useless I feel it
to talk and answer ! My first impulse is to say to myself :
Why should I ? what is the good of it ? and I have not yet
found an answer to that question ; which results sometimes
in my being two hours without saying a word, and for a month
past I have not touched a pen except to write to you. I
know well that such a manner rebuffs friends : but I consent
to that ; my soul is inured to hardships, it fears no little woes.
Ah ! how sorrow concentrates us ! how little we need when
we have lost all ! What blessings I owe you, mon ami ;
what mercies I ought to return to you ! You have restored
life to my soul ; you have made me feel an interest in await-
ing the morrow ; you promise me news of yourself : that
hope fixes my thoughts. You promise me still more ; I am to
see you ; but I shall say to you like Andromaque, " To less
favours than that the unhappy lay claim."
Adieu ; I abuse both your time and your kindness ; but it is sweet, it is natural to forget all with those we love. My wound is so sharp, my soul is so sick, my body so suffering that, were you susceptible of pity only, I am sure you would be beside me, seeking to pour into my heart the balm of tender- ness and consolation.
Thursday, after post time.
Well ! I have had no letter, and that surprises me less than it grieves me.
You have seen the chevalier and he will have given you news of me. I was not well the day he came. I am better now, but yesterday I received a violent shock. I had a conversation, I heard the details, I saw his hand-writing once
